


still and still moving

by bluebeholder



Series: One and the Same [12]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Apostates (Dragon Age), M/M, Original Character-centric, Road Trips, Team as Family, Tranquil Mages
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:47:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24718504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebeholder/pseuds/bluebeholder
Summary: Late summer, 9:37 DragonWith the Chantry cracking down on apostates throughout the Free Marches, it's time for Anders and Fenris—and their growing company of apostate mages—to move on. With a destination far to the north in mind, they set off again into the unknown.
Relationships: Anders/Fenris (Dragon Age)
Series: One and the Same [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1654444
Comments: 10
Kudos: 43





	still and still moving

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the kickoff of the Great Apostate Road Trip! I MIGHT be indulging my old love of the Oregon Trail here. Maybe. ;)

A state of controlled chaos rules the camp. Supplies being loaded into wagons, semi-permanent shelters being finally dismantled, the harness for the oxen being checked. Oxen low plaintively, while it seems every single person here wants to talk over the others. Binet, who used to be one of the Tranquil Formari, has taken on the task of checking any enchanted equipment for flaws before travel. A few of the more worried mages—Barbigia and Fabian, especially—hover nearby as, methodically, Binet examines their staffs for damage.

From where he works packing up the last of his healing supplies, Anders watches Fenris move around the camp. It’s his job to ensure that, as things are removed, the tracks of the twenty-odd mages in this company are adequately covered in case of pursuit by Templars. Although his expression is neutral and his movements are controlled, Anders has known Fenris long enough to recognize the tension in his posture. Fenris hasn’t spoken much of it, but Anders can safely conjecture that his experience in matters of stealth like this comes from his time on the run after leaving Tevinter.

Still, Fenris is being remarkably patient with young Lea, trailing on his heels and asking endless questions as Fenris sweeps the edges of the campsite for abandoned objects or obvious signs of passing. He doesn’t smile at her, and seems to be answering any questions rather curtly, but Lea is undeterred. The sight is heartening, even sweet.

Justice reminds Anders forcefully that they can dwell on such things later. Their people need them focused now. With a sigh, Anders shakes himself and finishes nailing down the lid of the small crate in front of him before hefting it and carrying it to one of the carts.

“Mind the balance,” Johann says, pointing to a clear space beside a few bundles of canvas. “It would be inefficient for us to load this cart again.”

“Had a few spills already?” Anders asks, wedging the crate in place.

Johann doesn’t sigh or give any indication of irritation—of course not, he’s Tranquil—but his words seem quite carefully chosen to express annoyance anyway. “Many of the people here have no sense of proper organization.”

Under the cart, Anders hears Ashahari’s voice. Formerly a crafter among the Dalish, she has a great deal of experience keeping wheels and axles in working order. “I don’t know how you all get by without knowing how to properly pack things up.”

“Not all of us have aravels at our disposal,” Namaril mutters, bringing a load of tentpoles to the cart. Johann takes them and begins meticulously arranging them in the cart.

Ashahari slides out from under the cart. “And you don’t have halla either,” she says, rising and dusting off her hands. “These oxen are _inefficient_.”

“I _wish_ we had halla,” Namaril says dolefully. They lean on the cart, chin on hands. “I’ve never even seen one.”

Anders leaves them to their talk. The last remnants of the camp are very nearly cleared up. He spots Bertrand, not yet past his Harrowing, chatting with Ashahari’s young mage brother Athel as the two boys situate young Eli and Alain in another cart. Athel came to them with his sisters after he was taken from their clan by Templars, and his sisters launched a rescue mission against the will of their clan’s Keeper. With nowhere to easily go back to, they’d joined up with this small company, and Anders is very glad to have them—especially Shana, whose skill with archery is unparalleled.

Near the path leading out of the nearly-empty campsite, Fenris has gathered their most combat-capable people. Shana is there, the bold lines of her vallaslin arcing over her face in echoes of the shape of the bow she carries on her back. Brithari and Malota, both force mages, stand side by side, near-identical stern looks on their faces. They’ve both been changed by the travails of the road, hardened by experience and sharpened into women whose fearlessness unnerves Anders sometimes. Alina, short sword at her side and buckler on her back, waits nearby, chewing absently on the end of a lock of hair. Tranquility didn’t remove that habit, apparently. And then there is Maris, a Knight-Enchanter of nearly seventy, spry and a powerful fighter.

It doesn’t seem quite enough, but Fenris sent Ornek on ahead to meet with the other mercenaries he’d hired to escort their small caravan north. There should be five of them, all competent warriors, and trustworthy as long as they are well-paid. Anders trusts Fenris’ judgement in this matter.

Loading the final cart are Halan and Yvonne, both mages, whose magic is not so strong. They have little experience in the field, and Yvonne—barely taller than nine-year-old Lea, who is admittedly tall for her age—is a person of fragile health anyway. Oudin, a spirit healer all the way from Orlais who speaks very little Trade, carries on a conversation with Pavel, whose Orlesian is very good. The Tranquil elf is still prone to poetic language and, apparently, his way with words reminds Oudin of home.

“Anders,” Wilhelma calls from where she stands holding the bridle of an ox while Arnfried, her husband, kneels beside it checking its leg.

He goes to stand beside her, absently stroking the ox’s massive shoulder. “What is it?” he asks.

Wilhelma gestures at the ox. “Something is wrong with its leg,” she says, the thick and achingly familiar accent of the Anderfels in her voice, “and I’ve not the magic to heal it.”

Anders crouches beside Arnfried to examine the leg. Wilhelma is a hedge mage, never inside a Circle; she’d married Arnfried, a farmer, and when Templars became suspicious they’d journeyed south into the Free Marches together. Arnfried has a gift for managing livestock and getting things to grow that make Anders wonder if Arnfried too is a hedge mage with particularly subtle power. Then again, perhaps he is merely used to the harsh climate and terrible soil of the Anderfels, and liberated by the good soil and temperate climate of the Free Marches.

By the time Anders and Arnfried finish with the ox and Wilhelma leads it away to be hitched in its place before a cart, Anders can feel the intense pressure and excitement of Justice. “You’ve been very patient all morning,” he mutters, “thank you.”

A sense of fondness radiates from somewhere at the other end of Anders’ mind, the part only Justice occupies, and the warmth of it makes him smile. It’s good to know that his care for these mages continues to meet with Justice’s approval. Anders likes being in accord with the person sharing his body.

Justice’s excitement sparks a little higher suddenly. Anders hears a faint, eerie strain of music, the song of the Fade conveyed through lyrium, quickly suppressed by Justice, the signal that Fenris is drawing near. He turns to see Fenris standing by, arms folded. His expression is stern, but softens when he looks at Anders. “Is there a reason you’re smiling to yourself?”

“It’s a fine day,” Anders says. Justice gives him a solid nudge and, inspired, Anders leans down and kisses Fenris’ forehead. His lips tingle where they touch the lyrium dots there, and a sense of happiness radiates from Justice at the contact. For all that Justice is still wary of Fenris, it seems Fenris is growing on the spirit. The lyrium song seems to be a bonus: Justice always says Fenris sounds like home.

Anders agrees.

“We could not ask for better weather,” Fenris says, unaware of the internal byplay. He looks up at the clear sky, just beginning to turn blue as the sun moves over the horizon. “But we are late getting on the road. It is time.”

“Right,” Anders says.

“Go,” Fenris says, giving Anders a light push on the shoulder.

Anders can’t resist kissing Fenris again, this time on the mouth, before clambering up on the front of one of the carts. Conversation dies quickly, everyone turning to look at him without his having to call for attention. “We’ll be off in just a few moments,” he says.

“Thank the Maker,” Halan says. “I thought we’d never go.”

“Hear, hear!” Brithari cheers, echoed by a few other voices.

“You all know it will be a dangerous trip,” Anders says, ignoring them both. “The roads will be hard and with this many people, we will be at risk of bandits or…”

Maris cuts in. “We are _mages_ , Anders,” she says firmly. “We have always been at risk of Templars. This will be no different.”

“But there are other ways than this,” Anders says. He gets the distinct sense that Justice is laughing at him, and roundly ignores Justice too. “I’m offering again—there are members of the Mage Underground who could take you elsewhere in the Free Marches.”

Barbigia scoffs. “And abandon this fine company? No, without me, you won’t make it as far as the border with Antiva!”

“Oh, _do_ shut up,” Fabian mutters, elbowing Barbigia in the ribs.

“I’d rather go with people I like than anyone else,” Lea pipes up.

“The child has it,” Maris says. “You’ll not convince a single one of us to leave each other.”

Anders looks at them all with a warmth he hasn’t felt in a long time welling up in his chest. “It’s settled, then,” he says. “We’ll get on the road.”

He’s barely hopped down from the cart when Arnfried is urging its team into motion. He sees Fenris helping Lea up into another cart, where she promptly starts chattering at Brithari—driving the oxen for that cart—who listens patiently. A moment later, Fenris weaves his way over to join Anders.

“I see that all mages are exactly as stubborn as you,” Fenris says.

Anders rolls his eyes. “You’re one to talk.”

Fenris shrugs. “Or perhaps it’s just that the ones with the courage to leave the Circle have a certain stubbornness,” he says. “Which would make everyone here your kindred spirit.”

“I wouldn’t call it stubbornness,” Anders says, glancing around. The carts are rolling steadily now, toward the place where this trail joins the road that turns north toward Antiva. It’s not the journey of a caravan with song and merriment—those things are for people not hunted by Templars—but that doesn’t prevent a sense of excitement from pervading the company. Athel and Bertrand, in a rare display of boyish exuberance, have already started a footrace ahead of the carts. Even Malota, the most somber person Anders has ever met, has a half smile on her face as she follows Brithari with her staff at a jaunty angle over her shoulder. Not a one looks worried or afraid of what might lie ahead, or melancholy at the thought of what stands behind.

Fenris follows Anders’ gaze. “Then what would you call it?”

“Bravery,” Anders says. “I’d call it bravery.”

**Author's Note:**

> I imagine Ashahari with June’s vallaslin (symbolic of the god of craft), and Shana with Andruil’s (the god of the hunt). Fitting, since in the mythology June and Andruil are said to be siblings. 
> 
> In Awakening, you can give Justice a lyrium ring that he tells you sings to him. I love the classic fenders trope of “Justice likes Fenris because of the lyrium,” so…here we are.


End file.
